


Managers Don't Forget

by atom2



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Chicago Cubs, M/M, Milwaukee Brewers, Rivalry, couns wants to kill everyone but he keeps his mouth shut, flirting if you squint, kind of crack but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 15:56:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18391610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atom2/pseuds/atom2
Summary: Craig Counsell is a devious little shit, and Joe wants him to know that.





	Managers Don't Forget

**Author's Note:**

> not beta'd because fuck the police. based off of [this interaction](https://twitter.com/fswisconsin/status/1114998143110639617).

“Hey.”

 

The voice is unfamiliar, yet familiar in a way; like a stranger you’ve met in another life, but in this incarnation have spilled your Starbucks all over. It gives off no energy: not harsh, or comfortable, or business-like. Craig can’t do mental gymnastics around it. He wishes he had tentacles and an iron will to just _not look up_. But, despite being preoccupied, Craig lifts his gaze to the doorway of his office, towards the voice he knows but doesn’t at the same time.

 

He hopes it isn’t the guy he _actually_ spilled his Starbucks on today, brandishing a butcher knife, coming to seek his revenge. What if it was a Cubs fan? Oh, fuck, it could be a Cubs fan.

 

It’s Joe Fucking Maddon. Fucking being his actual middle name.

 

“Don’t you have a flight to catch?” the older manager questions with genuine curiosity.

 

 _It’s not a competition anymore,_ Craig thinks. _He’s not an enemy; you can talk to him._

 

“Don’t _you_ have to drive the bus back to Chicago?”

 

“Okay, touché,” Joe laughs. “Father time hasn’t worked in my favor like he has you. Too bad a low batting average doesn’t discriminate on pretty faces.”

 

“Ooh, harsh.”

 

Craig has leaned back in his outrageously comfy office chair, pencil still in hand and whatever he was writing completely disregarded. He doesn’t really look to Joe, he just swivels and looks about the room at the too-familiar decorations. Old bobbleheads, family photos, and crayon drawings he had the heart to frame and hang even though his youngest is in middle school (and probably very, very embarrassed that her father has kept those all these years). Craig’s a sentimental guy; soft, even. It took him a while to look like he knew what he was doing when arguing with umpires.

 

He can guess that the smoothness in his quips occurs most naturally when there aren’t thousands of people watching.

 

“How are you even allowed here, anyway?”

 

“Special privileges.”

 

Craig hates that Joe’s laughing. He hates his smile. But Craig smiles back, bright and toothy, while mentally strangling him.

“I just wanted to say congratulations,” Joe continues. “I expect to be seeing lots of your team this year. And don’t think I’m going to forget your little Hader stunt!”

 

“Pfft, what?” Craig asks, sarcasm dripping through his naivety.

 

“You little shit. You know exactly what you’re doing with every trick.”

 

“And somehow no one sees it coming.”

 

Joe rolls his eyes. “Well don’t get too far ahead of yourself, kid.”

 

“I’m 48 years old…” Joe raises his eyebrows at him. Craig finishes his sentence begrudgingly. “...Dad.”

 

“Anyway,” Joe says nonchalantly. “I’ll let you have your down time. You’ve got a busy schedule coming.”

 

And with that, the Cubs manager turns on his heels and is on his way. All very casual. All very bitter. Craig doesn’t like that at all.

 

“Why aren’t you this invested in _your_ team?” Craig asks, hoping Joe will hear him. But he’s gone.

 

Like the stranger at Starbucks, this interaction will fade into obscurity. It won’t, though; managers don’t forget.


End file.
